


Stupid Ceramic Plate

by intergalxtic



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, I love Delia Deetz, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:02:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23728012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intergalxtic/pseuds/intergalxtic
Summary: Delia thought she was over it, but the broken plate on the kitchen floor had other ideas.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	Stupid Ceramic Plate

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!!! this is my first fic in this fandom! I wrote this a few weeks ago (before quarantine heheh) and only just got around to posting it now ahhh
> 
> TW: Panic attacks and mentions of past trauma

Delia sat comfortably on the couch, flicking through her preppy magazine, full of crappy advice, pictures of flowers, and star sign readings. She only read them for the flowers and star sign readings. As she got more and more into the magazine, she began to forget everything else around her, until she heard a loud crash from the kitchen. Delia instinctively jumps to her feet, her heart thumping loudly in her chest. She runs as quickly as she could into the kitchen and silently kneels down, cleaning the shattered ceramic plate. 

“Delia what are you doing?” Charles asks, confused. Delia snaps her head up at him, her breathing loud and heavy. 

“I-I-I was… am cleaning this… this up,” Delia’s words struggle to leave her mouth, words of her parents and ex-husband echoing through her ears. She brushes the shards into a small pile with her hands, then stands to find the dustpan and brush. Their words felt so real, ingrained into her mind, into her skin. Through a rocky marriage and fucked relationship with her parents, and being taken advantage of more times than she can count, these habits are hard to break. 

Fear hits her in the stomach like a baseball bat, and it tells her to keep going. So she did. She swept the remains of the plate into the dustpan, then tipped it into the bin. Delia thinks she can breathe easy again, but she can’t. Her face flushes a deep shade of red as the temperature rises. 

“Delia, are you okay?” Charles’s deep voice attempted to drown out the white noise and insults, but was unsuccessful. Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god. This hasn’t happened in years. She’d never shown her vulnerable side to her own mother, let alone the only family she’s felt accepted in. She hasn’t had a panic attack in front of them, and she won’t start. No. No No No. Stupid ceramic plate.

“Yes, I’m fine… fine,” Delia stammers, quickly walking out of the kitchen and into their room. 

Delia wanted to vomit, but her stomach churned further with the thought of Charles finding her hunched over the toilet. A part of her wanted to be vulnerable, show a little more of why she acted the way she did. But there was that voice. That small voice that had so much power. The voice that said that they won’t believe her, or tell her she’s crazy. The voice that has remained silent for years, So she locks herself in, so they definitely won’t see her.

“Have you seen Delia?” Was not something that typically came out of Lydia’s mouth. But of course, it had to be now that it did. 

“No, She locked herself in our room, after… Nevermind. I can’t seem to get her out.” Charles leans on the kitchen counter, frustrated. 

“Why?” Lydia asks, her dad’s confusion rubbing off onto her. “Did you guys fight?”

“No, we just…” Charles trails off, before explaining what happened. “I’ve never seen her look more frightened.”

Lydia bites her lip, a conclusion coming to her mind, but she didn’t want to share it. She wasn’t even sure if she was correct. After all, these things aren’t things you give away about people. 

When Delia finally came out of her room, nobody was downstairs, so down she went to keep reading through her magazine, but she can’t concentrate. It felt too quiet, like the same quiet from when her ex-husband left her. She knows that everyone is still here, but she can’t help but fear the worst. 

“Delia!” Charles’s deep voice exclaims from the bottom of the staircase. Delia slams the magazine up and stares at Charles, waiting for him to say something. “I’ve been trying to get to you all day? Why did you lock yourself in our room?”

“I was… I just… Needed some alone time.” Delia puts the magazine down and sits up straight, her leg bouncing up and down. Tears rush to her eyes and that panic returns to her body like it never left. She was drowning, her lungs filled with her anxiety. She tries to breathe faster and faster, but it just hurts.

“Delia? Delia?” Charles rushes to her, kneeling in front of her. He tries to grab hold of her hands, but she flicks him away. The pain in her chest worsened and her stomach churns. She hated this. She just wanted to feel normal, but no. She felt like she was dying. 

She tried to say something, tried to say she was okay, that she was fine… but she chokes on her words. Soon enough she sees Barbara and Adam standing around her as well. They all looked worried about her, but she can’t hear a word they say until someone says “Call an ambulance,”

And she manages to cough out a small “No,”

“But Delia, something is clearly wrong, you’re in pain.” Charles comes closer, making Delia flinch away. She scrunched her eyes up, a tear rolling down her cheeks. She hated being vulnerable, every single second. Could they at least give her some space?

“Step away from her,” Lydia says, standing around 4 metres away from the couch. 

“What?” Charles looks at Lydia, and then back to Delia, who still can barely breathe. And then he backs up, followed by Adam and Barbara. After several moments, Delia collects herself, the humiliation immediately following. Her whole body was aching from exhaustion, she just wanted sleep.

“That was so embarrassing…” Delia mumbles, standing up and walking as quickly as her tired legs could take her. When Charles went to go after her, Lydia stopped him.

“Just let her be alone, even if it’s just for a minute,” Lydia advises, then walks into the kitchen, presumably for something to eat. The Maitlands just shrug and float up to the attic, leaving Charles alone with his thoughts.

The two lay in bed, facing the roof, ignoring the elephant in the room. Again, a part of Delia wanted to tell Charles what happened, but there was still that doubt. Part of Charles wanted to find out what was wrong, but there was still that doubt. But he was the one that didn’t let it get the best of him.

“What happened today?” He turns to face Delia, who already has tears welling in her eyes.

“I… I had a panic attack,” Delia swallows her fear and tells the truth. “My first one in 5 years.” 

“Oh, Delia… But why?” He delves deeper.

“You know I had a difficult relationship with my parents… my ex-husband didn’t help. During the last few months of our marriage, he started getting angrier at small things. Dishes weren’t done, laundry wasn't done, things weren’t put back properly.” Delia could tell he wanted to know more, so why stop now? She'd already revealed to much. “He would throw things at the ground to break them. And blame it on me. It became a habit.”

“Delia, I’m sorry-”

“You didn’t know. I don’t blame you. I’m just too sensitive. I hate it.” Delia huffs, turning her head away. After a moment of silence, Charles speaks up again.

“When did it start?”

“When I was 15,” Delia says simply. It was at school, and it started in front of her entire grade, but she ran out of the room before it got worse. “They never came often, until I didn’t get accepted into the college mum wanted me to go to. They got worse, and she shamed me for taking a gap year, then when I got to my sophomore year, I dropped out. I didn’t go back to college until I was twenty-six.”

Then she went to explain how she met her ex, was taken advantage of, had her wild phase, and met Otho. Charles didn’t judge. He just listened to her pained words, and finally understood who Delia was, and why she acted the way she did. He didn’t mind her vulnerability or take advantage of her unusual state. He just held her in his arms and let her cry.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!!


End file.
